


The Raven Was Called Sin

by bootlegtruth



Category: iKON (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Violence, altar boy bobby, fwb junbin, maybe angst idk, priest yunhyeong, this is fucked up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:01:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21671893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bootlegtruth/pseuds/bootlegtruth
Summary: In which Bobby devotes himself from doing good as he was born good. Hanbin deviates himself from being one.
Relationships: Kim Hanbin | B.I/Kim Jiwon | Bobby, Kim Jiwon | Bobby/Song Yunheong
Comments: 18
Kudos: 42





	The Raven Was Called Sin

**Author's Note:**

> Forgive me, people.

The grounds for a person to be considered immoral is if one does not acknowledge the presence of a divine being. 

For someone to be known as existing, he must first be conscious. He must think. He must doubt. 

The same day Hanbin learns about all of these in his Philosophy class, halfway through trying not to fall asleep, he envisions himself flying to the moon, he'll bring Junhoe with him, they'll probably suck each other's dick. He knows the latter would find the idea weird but he'll go through with it. On the other side of the room, he spots Bobby, listening earnestly and jotting down notes on a black notebook—his only notebook, Hanbin observes—that was a university freebie during the first day orientation. 

Everyone was born good. To do good. To be good. And while he looks at how Bobby has worn another one of his black soutane, how it flows down to his ankles and the sleeves long enough to cover half of his hand, how the collar covers most of his neck and the only skin he's showing is his face and fingers, he wonders what kind of sin Bobby has done.

When he first landed his eyes on him, it was a rainy Saturday evening. Hanbin was hugging himself on a shed, waiting for Junhoe to fetch him with an umbrella. 

Bobby was holding up the length of his soutane to not get them wet, his other hand gripping upright on a transparent umbrella while he walked through the field. 

Three years in an all-boys Catholic school, you basically get sick of each other. What with the lack of girls, it also doesn't help that you don't meet enough new people unless you're allowed to go outside during vacations. Hanbin didn't know him then. That was what got him curious. 

"We got an altar boy?" he told Donghyuk, eyes still transfixed on the boy who walked slowly, trying to avoid puddles.

"Who? Bobby?" Donghyuk watched his line of vision and confirmed it when Hanbin nodded at Bobby. "He's a scholar of Fr. Song. Lives in the priest's house near the dorms." 

"Really? Since when?" 

"Since years ago? I only saw him last week when his schedule changed. Doesn't talk much, he's got a cute smile though." 

When Hanbin turned to look at Bobby again, he had gone inside the gates of the priest's house.

It's not like it's the first time, but since then, he wanted to see what was inside.

More specifically, who.

Junhoe squeezes Hanbin's hand firmly and pretends that he's not doing anything whenever Hanbin turns his face to him. Junhoe has his eyes closed, bowing down a little as he whispers the Lord's prayer. Hanbin glares at him, his head back on the altar, staring at Bobby while he stands beside the priest, hands pressed together while he sings in a murmur. 

Junhoe squeezes his hand again. 

"God, I'm so horny." Junhoe whispers under his breath.

"We're in the middle of a mass, Junhoe. Pull yourself together." 

He knows he shouldn't have given in. Junhoe was insufferable. After the prayer, his hand was sliding down the small of his back, moving in circles enough to get him riled up. So, when everyone was kneeling down, eyes shut tightly, he palms Junhoe through his pants, speeding his hand deliriously as he rests his forehead on the pew, trying to hide what they're doing. When it wasn't enough he unzips Junhoe's fly nervously, freeing his cock with a shaking hand and stroking it in a tight slide. Junhoe leans in to whisper that he's close so he looks around for a second before going down, cock in his mouth, with Junhoe groaning on the arms of the pew, biting on his fist as Hanbin swallows around him.

When he raises his head up to find everyone lining for communion, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Bobby was staring at him. 

Philosophy isn't his favorite subject. There's just something about professors telling you how you're gonna die sooner or later that makes him eager to continue attending classes. Normally, he would sit in front to actually listen, but right now he's got some motives.

"I saw you staring at me during first Friday." he starts, leaning close so he can be heard. 

It's not like he hasn't heard Bobby speak before. He's practically in charge of reading out psalm responses every first Friday masses and sure, cat got Bobby's tongue right now, but that didn't stop him. Even if he's being ignored.

"Bobby." he calls, staring at the boy before him, memorizing the outline of his face, the only skin he was allowed to see. "Do you think God would still accept me in heaven? Now that I've christened His house with my dirty, nasty mouth?" And he didn't mean to sound so fucked up. In reality, he never really believed in God. No amount of Catholic teachings would make him understand why someone deemed to be so powerful and divine could also be the pioneer of adamant loathing and war. 

He finds himself liking the way Bobby's jaw clenched, his fist balled, drowned in the sleeves of his soutane. Bobby's got a silver cross necklace hanging over his neck and Hanbin wonders what it would feel like dragging on his chest while Bobby's on top of him, his big hands clamping on the planes of his back. 

"Did you talk to Him about me when you say your nightly prayers? Told Him I don't belong up there anymore?" he whispers again.

"What do you want me to say?" Bobby croaks, his eyes raking over him. 

Hanbin knows he's finally got to him, ponders how much Bobby could take before he snaps. He would like to see it. What would good little church boy do if he suddenly gets him pissed off?

"What do you want to say?" Before he knew it Bobby was leaning into him, close to his cheek and a whisper. 

"Think you need to get on your knees again, back inside the chapel and pray." 

He catches a glimpse of his clavicle through the loose collars of his soutane. After he was sure his mind didn't play tricks on him, he bit his lower lip. 

Three crosses in blank ink imprinted on Bobby's skin. He knows there's more to it. He wants to see the rest.

Bobby wasn't from a well-off family. He had decided to work at a young age opting out high school. He studied mostly off his cousin's used textbooks and by himself. 

He was a child when his mother first brought him to church, introducing him to priests and the servers in hopes that one day he'll be one too. She never wished for him to be in sync financially though, spiritual wellness had always been their priority. 

Song Yunhyeong was a young priest who visited their church to do anticipated masses. A humble man in humble clothing, living in the suburbs instead of the usual mansion in the heart of the city. He offered his mother to introduce him to priesthood, cover his college expenses, take custody of him. 

A shiny black Maserati pulled up in front of their house three years ago. Bobby was all set with two duffle bags in his hand. He doesn't own much and he figured he doesn't need much too, since he wouldn't be wearing anything except soutanes and surplices. 

If anything, Song Yunhyeong turned out to be more serious than what he had shown. The priest's house inside the university was lavish, decorated with marble columns and a golden foyer. A silver chandelier hangs in the middle of the painted ceiling, creating the illusion of teardrops from the angels in colorful strokes from above. Upstairs leading to the master's bedroom were frames of various saints and when he opened the door as what he was instructed, Song Yunhyeong was waiting for him.

He was advised to call him Father. 

He was advised to strip naked.

He's heard of this before. Priests giving in to their carnal needs. He wonders how many altar boys before him had experienced this.

Maybe he had some fucked up sense of gratitude. He was being taken care of, after all. When he was down to his last piece of clothing, it wasn't taken well.

Yunhyeong didn't like that he had tattoos. He said he doesn't look clean. Wasn't clean. He had ruined the temple of God. His borrowed body. Yet, he was touched and he touched in return. He knelt and opened his mouth. He was ruined.

"I heard you made a friend today. Kim Hanbin, is it?" Yunhyeong looks up at him from the book he's reading, a pair of glasses sitting on his nose and an inquisitive smile. 

"He wasn't a friend, Father." he answers timidly, hands on his back closed tightly, short nails digging on the inside of his palm.

"I was told you were particularly close this morning. Had I not been clear about making close friends of the same sex?" Yunhyeong stands up, walking towards him slowly. He hears every step, every clack of his shoes. His breath hitches. 

"You have been clear, Father." he breathes.

Yunhyeong hums in response, rough fingers on the smooth surface of his cheek. Three years ago when it first happened, he remembers flinching to the touch. Every blink is a glimpse of nightmare and he found himself shaking to the memory of being fucked out. Right now, he stills. His heart hammering in his chest, loud enough to be felt, but not to shout for help. 

"Have you said your prayers before coming in here, Jiwon-ah?" 

"Not yet, Father." 

He says it like a script. A psalm response that he had memorized a day before as to not embarrass himself in front of the devotees. During the days when he feels truly safe, he thinks of running away, leaping through years of endless agony. Maybe then he could finally meet the Creator his Father so boldly preaches.

"Get on your knees, then." 

Hanbin has Junhoe. He holds on to the fact that he won't suffer hellfire alone as the guy was a much bigger asshole than he is. 

"Chanwoo seems gayer than usual. What a fucking hypocrite." Junhoe snickers while he mops the floors of the chapel, Hanbin was wiping off dusts on the cushion of the pew kneelers. They were sent off to do civil service for getting caught in the arts room. 

Jung Chanwoo was their junior who used to harass them everyday and call them derogatory remarks that Hanbin used to take offense to. He learned to filter out everything he said whenever they cross paths.

"Remember when he called me a cock eater? Man, he's such a fucking fool. Jinhwan just saw him limping around during baseball practice." Junhoe laughs maniacally, shaking his head at the thought. "Fucking cock destroyer. I bet he got his ass wrecked so badly." 

In his entire life, Junhoe had probably blurted out a thousand profanities. And every time he was forced to confess his sins at the end of the year, he retaliates by spewing twice a thousand more. Hanbin thinks he should keep it down, as they were inside the chapel after all. Then he remembers blowing him last Friday after singing the Lord's prayer so he buries the thought away. 

"We pay this shit of an institution monthly, why are we still allowed to touch dirt?" Junhoe stands up. "I'll be out to get some clean water. Get you some food too, yeah?" 

Hanbin nods, teasing, "Don't bother coming back."

Hanbin had never really paid attention to the chapel before. Even if it was the same size as an amphitheater, too spacious for one, he felt like he was being squeezed in. His knees were pressed firmly on the cushion and he wonders how many students had tried to wash away their sins till their knees give out. How many of them had looked up at the sculpture of a crucified man, who claimed to have sacrificed His life for them, and ask for forgiveness. Yet they keep on sinning, and will sin again once they had lifted their knees off the ground.

He rolls his eyes once he heard the slide of the door, moving on to scrub the back of the pews. 

"Didn't I tell you to not bother coming back?" he grins.

"I...well, I thought no one was in here." 

He turns his back all of a sudden from the unfamiliar raspy voice that was certainly not Junhoe. 

"Fancy seeing you here." Of course he was stupid. Bobby is an altar server, he was meant to be in the chapel. 

But what's in front of him wasn't the Bobby he's used to seeing. He wears a plain white shirt and a faded straight jeans. He wasn't meant to be seen like this. 

Bobby strides past him, walking towards the altar, to the chancel. He comes back with a key in his hand and a folded white surplice hanging on his arm. 

"You know, I once thought church boys were meant to be nice." he watches as his back stiffens, his walking halts.

"You seem like a cool guy, Bobby. You got a tattoo, right?" 

"I don't."

And Hanbin chuckles. He could make out the black ink underneath his white shirt. "Liar."

"Hanbin—"

"Oh, you know my name?"

"You distract me." 

Bobby wasn't naive. He knows what he's gotten himself into. But when it first happened, he thought it would be a one time thing. On good days, he would be the one fucking Yunhyeong. He never did bother to look at him all the while. He closes his eyes and clears his mind. No, he cannot think of his Mom. He cannot think of her dreams for him. So, he fucked, head empty with only the want to end his life ramming in his chest. 

He dreads it when bad days come. That's when he's the one on the receiving end. If anything, Yunhyeong was completely different from when he's under him.

The last time it happened was when he got praised by Yunhyeong's acquaintance. She told him he looked like he'll go places. The truth is, he knows he'll be stuck. Bent over a wooden table, getting his brains fucked out while a saint he forgot the name of watches from above him, still in his frame, seemingly apathetic. He never asked for help.

"Jiwon, come here." 

He locks the door as he steps inside. Bobby stares at the man in front of him, expectant. Most of the time, he forgets he's actually a priest. 

There's a line that he always seemed to cross. 

During his first week in his house, he found out Yunhyeong had a kept child. He had impregnated someone during his youth. The child grew up to be fatherless, oblivious to the fact that will probably be forever. He thinks to himself, whenever he's alone and at peace, how many of the commandments Yunhyeong had disobeyed. He laughs at the irony.

"Do you think you'd be fine if I leave you alone for a week?" Yunhyeong looks at him warily, Bobby wants to claw at his face. 

"You leave me once a month. If I was fine then, I'd be fine now." Yunhyeong cocks an eyebrow at him, tight-lipped. "Father." he adds.

"Will you be good while I am away?" another rough hand on his skin, this time closing in on his neck.

"I'm always good, Father." he manages to spit out, the fingers wrapped tightly around his throat, thumb pressing on his jugular. He swallows, and he swallows until his mind was going blank and all he could think about is _help_. There's another saint behind Yunhyeong. He seems to be haunted by it. 

"You're right. Always so good." he loosens his grip but his hand never left. "I wish I could take you with me. I get lonely thinking of you alone." his thumb rubs on the side of his neck as if trying to soothe. 

"I can't wait for you to fuck me senseless when I get home." 

Bobby talks to God every night. 

How could the same mouth who preaches about salvation reek so much of blasphemy? 

He tells Him.

Hanbin sees Bobby out of his soutane again. Playing basketball in a jersey over a fitted sweater. Of course, he would still be covered. He watches him carefully, in all seriousness, like he was a normal boy for once. 

He never understood why Bobby was called, as what they interpret it as such. Maybe he wasn't. Maybe God had sent mixed signals and Bobby was the only one there to pick it up. Maybe it wasn't meant to be him. He saw it in Bobby's eyes before. It was clear that he didn't want any of these.

  
Crown of thorns. 

Hanbin had seen it fully. 

Bobby emerges out of the gym shower, a towel wrapped around his hips and Hanbin stares at him deliberately. Marvels at how one could hide such physique under a soutane. If it was up to him, he would flaunt it. 

"Have you ever fucked someone, Bobby?" he crosses his arms, delighted with seeing the boy's shoulders tense. Something in him wanted to reach out, to trace every thorn on his body with the tip of his fingers, watch Bobby break, only to be repaired back by him. 

"You said I distract you. What does that mean?" he pushes.

"Do you want to fuck me, Bobby?" he pushes through and through until he feels Bobby pulling. "Priesthood stopping you?"

One more push. Hanbin can feel it. Can feel him snapping at him. And he wants it to happen. He yearns for it. 

"If I asked you to bend me in half, fuck me silly till I call you my God, would you do it?" 

"Kim Hanbin, you think too highly of yourself." 

So, maybe God really messed things up. 

He knows for sure that the collars of Bobby's soutane was not tight enough to leave marks around his neck.

  
A neighbor's backyard wasn't an ideal place to bury a dead dog. But it's all he had. He was 10 years old, sneaking out at night with a shovel in his right hand, and a puppy wrapped in a blanket on the other. Mrs. Park would kill him if she finds out, but he needed a place where flowers are near to touch. 

That was the first time Bobby really thought of heaven. If this so-called God hears everything, would he let his little dog in if he prayed a thousand times? The sun was starting to set, Mrs. Park would be up in a few minutes. He prayed one last time before he ran. 

Bobby doesn't usually think of other people. He thinks about himself more than anything. His own series of what comes next? The never-ending dilemma of sinking or swimming. 

In the confines of his bedroom, provided by his pretend Father, he thinks of Hanbin. Someone with a mouth who runs like that should be afraid and yet Hanbin feared no one. He talks and he expects answers. Bobby wants to be like that. 

He lets his hand clamp around his neck, fingers tracing the remnants of the priest's rage. The tightness replaying in his head and he mimics it, closing his hand in a firm grip. It is a sin to end one's life, moreso if it is your own. But why does he feel free every time he runs out of breath? The way he gasps for air as he suffocates, it was fulfilling, intoxicating. He hates that he has to loosen his grip just like that. 

He hates to breathe again.

  
"I heard Father Song was out of town." he doesn't stop. "Does that mean you're alone in that house? You must feel lonely." Hanbin brushes his palm on the smooth surface of Bobby's soutane, over his thigh, feeling him tick like a time bomb soon to be detonated. 

"I'm not lonely." Bobby manages to answer.

"Invite me over." he says it eagerly, he was on a mission. 

He expected Bobby's silence. But soon after, he receives a reply.

"I can't." 

"Yes, you can. Nobody's stopping you."

It must suck to know that an altar server who devotes himself into purity, never letting anyone see what's underneath his ankle-length garment, limiting their imaginations, could kiss in the same hungry intensity he had given out.

Not only was he a liar, he's also starved. 

Hanbin knows how to push everyone's buttons, how to chase and be chased. He sees intentions. And Bobby was clear as day.

When he had outright rejected him, he knows it doesn't end. He wasn't surprised. 

What's surprising is how big the house was inside. 

He was taken in.

He roams his eyes around, making sure he doesn't miss a single thing. Every painting, every sculpture, every glimmer of gold. 

Bobby's eyes reflected of sorrow and want, his lips glossy with spit, and breath faltering as he dips in for another kiss and Hanbin was more than glad to be giving in. 

"You kiss me like this and you expect me to believe you want any of these?" he murmurs in between, moving his hand to remove Bobby's clothing.

"I don't want any of these." Bobby says. 

"I only want you." and he was bared in front of him, away from the restrictions of the black soutane, free. He's beautiful.

Hanbin had never been fucked this way before. Junhoe was gentle, he always made sure everything was fine. With their little resources, he figures Bobby fucks him in the only way he knows how. 

He was crushed on the bed, Bobby pounding behind him in a bruising pace as his hand pushes his face on the mattress below and he couldn't breathe. His moans were muffled and only the sound of the headboard hitting the walls fills his ears. 

He catches all the air he could inhale when Bobby lets go of him, leaning down to press kisses on his shoulder. 

"Didn't you ask to be fucked silly?" Bobby chuckles in his ear, flipping him over. And for the first time, he questions what he's gotten himself into.

"So close. Please." he mutters.

"Come, then." 

He cries as he does, eyes shut tight as he was milked till the last drop, untouched. And Bobby wasn't stopping, he wouldn't stop. 

"Bobby." he calls. "Fuck. Stop." his body was beginning to hurt, mind hazed, all he could see was Bobby, blissed out on top of him still at it relentlessly. 

"Call me your God." he grins, watches as his cock disappears into Hanbin's heat, overused but still tight. He wants nothing else than to hear it. What it would feel like to be superior for once. He's in charge, he's in control.

"God. God. God, fuck." and Hanbin chants, and chants until Bobby collapses on top of him, biting a groan in his chest as he fills him full. 

Hanbin closes his eyes, carding his fingers in Bobby's hair. 

"I'm sorry." 

Bobby was crying.

  
"Father, when will we stop doing this?" Bobby asked before, nursing the bruises on his arms and chest caused by Yunhyeong's grip and chains. 

"Do you want to stop doing this?" 

And of course he does. He wanted nothing than to stop. If he could leave...if he could be gone. This could've been over. 

"You belong to me now, Jiwon. Do you want to upset God by leaving me behind?" 

He wasn't as brainwashed as what Yunhyeong thinks of him. God wouldn't be upset if he saves himself before he was in too deep. But he shook his head, flinching when Yunhyeong extended his hand to hug him.

"Think about your Mom." he brushed the hairs of his face and wiped his tears. "Don't even try to leave."

The grounds for a person to be considered immoral is if one does not acknowledge the presence of a divine being. 

He believes in God. He prays to Him every night. He asks for help, for guidance, for a little bit of blessings. And so, if this was the basis then he's morally good in His eye.

Sometimes, he wonders if God closes His eyes whenever he gets beaten up by his Father. When he buries his cock deep inside him, cries himself to sleep at the memories, is he still considered good as long as he has faith? 

There's nothing in this world he fears more than not going to heaven after he had experienced hell on Earth.

"You fucked him." 

A punch in his gut.

"You fucked him in here."

And another one.

By now, he should've been numb. It's not like it's happening for the first time. 

The rest of the days when Yunhyeong was gone, he spent time with Hanbin. It was liberating. He wasn't contricted by the thick, fit of the soutane. He wasn't hiding. 

Hanbin kissed him in a new light. Something he had never felt whenever Yunhyeong does. Just their lips brushing against each other, no forceful tongue shoving down his throat, no hand gripping his cheeks asking him to open up. 

Hanbin hugged him in a new warmth. Like a furnace during winter, a thick sweater, a cup of hot chocolate. Yunhyeong cages him, hinders him of any chance to escape. Sometimes with a rope or a chain. The marks never see the day.

"Why would you defy me, Jiwon-ah? Did you think about what your Mom would say when I tell her what you've done? You have sinned. You weren't Eve. You shouldn't be weak. You have released the raven in the world. You are immoral." 

Yunhyeong had kicked him down on the ground. He was kneeling again. His shoe planted on the side of his face but he doesn't cry. He doesn't feel guilty. 

When his clothes were yanked off him, stripped naked in front of the man responsible for his torments, he didn't protest either. He was fucked time and time again. Nothing new.

"You're a washed up little whore, a street rat I took custody of, and you repay me by fucking that boy you barely know of?" he thrusts into him brutally that he wonders what would happen if everything just stopped. 

"No one's gonna accept you like I did. You're going to live out the rest of your life with me." 

Hanbin paces back and forth inside his room. He looks outside the window to check if the rain has stopped. Yesterday was his last meeting with Bobby. The priest was back in town.

For someone to be known as existing, he must first be conscious. He must think. He must doubt.

He used to say shit when it comes to Sigmund Freud. Why would he listen to a man with an oral fixation? But he found himself believing in Rene Descartes, another man whose fixation he wasn't aware of. 

He did question how it was possible for him, a privileged kid from the upper class who books flights like movie tickets, and Bobby, with eyes of an open book laid down for the world to see, to coexist in the same place, the same world, the same dimension.

He doubts how it was possible for Bobby to be able to smile at him despite being stuck. Hanbin knows, beyond the sweet, selfless grin Bobby gives, is a myriad of scars that ache and terrorize him the minute he closes his eyes.

Yesterday, he found himself staring at the portrait of the priest and Bobby. His hand planted on Bobby's shoulder. Both were smiling.

Yesterday, he found himself realizing how Bobby had always been with the same priest all his life. Three whole years away from his family and counting.

Yesterday, he found himself deep in his thoughts. He conjures an image of Bobby, the first time he ever saw him bared. Of finger marks on his neck, and the fading bruises on his hips, and chest, and wrists. 

Bobby was always with the priest. 

Three whole years and counting.

  
A smile that could cure. 

That was how most people describe his Mom. 

At the church they used to go to, she sings every Sunday as part of the choir. Her voice is those of the angels, a peaceful melody. He wishes nothing but to hear it forever. 

Everyone was born good. To do good. To be good. 

Bobby thinks it would be nice if he wasn't born at all. That way, he wasn't pressured to do good. To be good. 

If everyone is, in fact, born good, how do they strive to keep doing good? Why do they take a turn, to deviate from goodness just to be evil? What sense of gratification is entailed when one is deviant from his own innate goodness? 

Yunhyeong was dead.

He killed him. 

His blood pools around him, shallow like a spilled glass of water but deep enough to drown him. He watches as the life runs out of his body, the last breath he takes, the way his hand still reaches out for him. 

Where would Yunhyeong go? He dedicated half of his life spreading the word of God. He donated to charities. He fed children. He took care of one. Does he deserve to be in heaven?

Where would Bobby go? He just took a life. Soon, he'll take his own. Does he deserve to be in hell?

The door opens hurriedly and Bobby wants to hide. The evidence, the body, himself.

Hanbin rushes out to get to him, checking if he still have pulse. He loosens the noose on his neck. Yunhyeong had tried to kill him.

"Can you hear me?" Hanbin calls.

"Bobby, I'm here. Fuck, I got you." Hanbin cries.

"You're safe now. Please stay with me." Hanbin comforts.

Bobby could feel his presence slipping away. When he tried to hold onto him tightly, he was out of reach. 

So he lets go.

Hanbin thinks the world is visible in Bobby's eyes even when they're closed.

**Author's Note:**

> Bobby's alive!
> 
> Thanks and sorry for reading.
> 
> edit: i just made a new twitter omg follow me there if you want [@bootleglies](https://mobile.twitter.com/bootleglies)


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